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[fxntine]

guYS IF WE’RE MUTUALS AND YOUR MUSE RANDOMLY WANTS TO TALK TO MINE, TAG. ME. IN. A. STARTER. I WILL REPLY BECAUSE I LOVE RANDOM STARTERS AND CUTE SHIT AND JUST MY MUSE BEING THROWN IN A SITUATION WHERE THEY’RE LIKE “WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?!?! WHO THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?!?! WHY THE FUCK ARE WE DOING THIS?!?!” BECAUSE ITS THE BEST THING EVER. So yknow yeah. Tag me in shit.

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{ Like for a starter? }

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{ littleelsebutlove } :

     Recently time had been flowing strangely for Jean Valjean also. He had his responsibilities beyond the hospital, beyond the blind woman’s bedside. But even when he was out of her sight his world still seemed to revolve about her, as the earth still revolves around the sun even when it’s disappeared below the horizon. He constantly found himself in quiet moments dreaming up small things he could do for her to make her life easier or more pleasant. Sometimes practical things, such as arranging the sparse furniture in her room for easier mobility, sometimes more intangible like making certain the air was often doused in the natural perfume of flowers.

     He delighted in these ministrations, tiny gestures in themselves, each adding up to something greater. He was needed—and could fulfill that need, any that she might have. Any except perhaps one. He thought from time to time he saw her eyes, sightless though they were, turn sad. Too solicitous to ask, he merely tucked the observation away for later. He did not want to intrude on her life any more than he did already. He did however hope she might someday trust him enough to tell him.

     In the meantime there were his daily visits. Occasionally he was forced to cut them short, but he always made some time for it. So here he was, a break in the busy autumn harvest season, standing y her bed. A terse man with a broad way of speaking but limited words, he was only half aware how important a sense hearing would be to one who could not see.

     At her question, however, he smiled and squeezed her hand. “Of course. Come.” Implicit in the word was an offer of support—only if she wanted it.

     — Fantine appreciated everything that the man did for her — she began to recognize the flowers by her bedside by name, based solely on their scent. She knew that the flowers were brought to her by the one with the kind, deep and gentle voice. None of the nurses had the means to provide such gifts to patients. In any case, there were others far more deserving than her; some who were on the last days of their life, or were in great suffering.

     — It was because of this reason that she hardly expected any visitors at all, let alone the regular visitor to her bedside. She had no family, as far as she knew, and her lover was long-gone. If the voice had belonged to the innkeeper with whom she left her child, he would have brought Cosette along as well, wasn't that right? She often thought of the child, and her sightless eyes filled with pain that she rarely knew she showed. It had so long since she had last seen Cosette, yet she never gave up hope.

     — On that autumn afternoon, the man came in as usual. He smelled of the very flowers he brought often, Fantine thought. She knew that with the colder whether, he'd no longer bring these plants, but she hoped that the visits would continue. The only thing that was occupying her mind at that moment, however, was the voice that granted her request to go for a walk. Though she would be unable to see the brilliant colours of autumn which she missed so dearly, hearing the man's voice talk to her all the while would serve just as well.

     — The comforting sensation of a warm hand gripping her own brought a smile to the blind woman's face. The words were just as reassuring and gentle as the touch, and Fantine wished she could keep those sensations forever, locked away in her mind for her to access whenever she was alone. Of course, this was impossible, yet it didn't stop her from hoping.

     — Gripping the hand securely, Fantine helped herself up with the man's support. The fabric of his coat was soft and warm, and she felt completely safe in his presence. Being unable to see, Fantine often had trouble with trusting people, even ones she had known while she still had her sight — though those were few, and none of them ever visited.

     — Nonetheless, the young woman felt as though she could trust this man with her life. She let him lead her outside, where the cool air chilled her instantly. She attempted to remain strong, however, and not let it show. Yet she couldn't help but press closer to that warm, comforting form. Out of habit, she tilted her head up towards where she thought the man's face to be.

                     “ — What is your name, monsieur?”

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{ cynismes } :

                     [ Grantaire nods and follows her inside, hands in the                         pockets of his jeans as he walks. The overwhelming                         smell of flowers is enough to almost make him sneeze,                         but he manages to stifle it. He isn’t totally rude. ]

     ”Problem is, I kind of have no idea what she’d like.”

                     [ His sister is almost as stubborn and picky as he is, so                        she isn’t exactly the easiest person in the world to shop                        for. Maybe it’s genetic. ]

     ”I think she’s still in her ‘pink is icky’ phase, so that       narrows it down a bit.”

                     [ — Fantine laughs and nods at his comment. Of                 course this narrows it down! She can get a sense of                 what Grantaire's sister is like merely from the wording                 of the phrase. ]

                    “ — This is quite helpful information,                Grantaire. I have these flowers here that                she might be interested it?”

                    [ — It's a bouquet of marigolds, bright orange and                 yellow, wrapped in red paper and tied with sparkling                 white bow. ]

                   “ — Or we have this as well. It's a                single lily, but it's quite rare during this                time of year.”

                   [ — The flower has a deep green stem, and crisp                white petals. ]

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{ ignatiius } :

          The Being had, by this point, dwelt outside the De Lacey residence for no more than three or four months’ time. Though he had bent every faculty and ounce of will to the task of learning the strange science of communication, he had made frustratingly slow progress. He understood and could pronounce only a meager handful of words, and the matter of grammar was still quite a mystery to him: of the conversations exchanged between the De Laceys, he understood no more than twenty percent.

            This, understandably, distressed him greatly. He longed ardently to speak the language of the cottagers, for on some level he comprehended that it would only be with eloquence that he would win their love and admiration. His form, as he had realized quite early on, was intolerably hideous: when any human beings saw him, their first instinct was always to flee or attack; and if he wished to turn their fear into good will, he would be able to do so only through a display of intelligence and understanding. If, perhaps, men knew that he was not simple and that he spoke their language, he might hope for acceptance from them.

              But the process of learning was slow. The cottagers pronounced their words swiftly and precisely, with little pause between each; and although the Being had come to recognize certain small words, such as fire, milk, and bread, he understood nothing of such things as syntax and verb conjugation, which made actual communication almost impossible.

              On the evening of Fantine’s walk, the Being was traveling his customary path through the forest, intending to find supper for himself and wood for the cottagers’ fire. Occupied solely as he was in his task, he did not notice Fantine’s approach until she spoke; and when her voice was raised, he balked and panicked.

               His first thought was to hide his face from her. His height alone, he knew, marked him as something inhuman; but that, in and of itself, would perhaps not be enough to frighten her off, whereas his odious countenance certainly would. Throwing his withered hands up to conceal his face, the Being hunched his shoulders, turned aside from her, and shuddered convulsively in fear. She, like the De Laceys, spoke too quickly for him to comprehend: he understood the words ‘lost’ and ‘town,’ but the use of ‘monsieur’ and the formal ‘vous’ confused him. The De Laceys were all family to one another: there was no reason for them to use ‘vous’ or ‘monsieur,’ for when visitors approached the house, it was usually in German that they conversed with the cottagers. Confused, frightened, and vehemently cursing his failure to understand, the Being shook his head.

                 ”No.”

                That, at least, he knew how to say; and if he were fortunate, she would leave before he had the chance to display full ignorance. 

     — The form which Fantine saw was indeed large, but that did not deter her from investigating. She saw him fright at the sound of her voice, and she was quick to apologize.

     “ — I did not mean to frighten you, monsieur. I'm sorry.”

     — Though the human-like form spoke only a single word, Fantine could still pick up a strong accent. She decided from then on to speak slower, just in case. The young woman noticed that he seemed to be hiding his face, so she walked deeper into the underbrush.

                    “ — Don't be afraid of me, monsieur. I won't hurt you,                     I promise.”

     — As Fantine finally made it next to the form, her heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of his face. It was only just barely human &mash; it appeared almost dead, and the being himself was odd, and appeared sewn or stitched together and places.

     — What was Fantine beholding before her eyes? Was it a demon, or a mere human? The woman decided that despite his horrific appearance, she had no reason to be afraid of him. She had seen many men with horrible disfigurements down by the docks when she has crossed, and vowed never to end up there.

     — However, since she was exposed to these things regularly, the being before her had little effect on her other than the initial fright. Her motherly instincts had overcome her as she then became worried. Was he alright? Did he had a family? How long had he been out here? Instead of asking these questions, all she could ask was;

                     “ — What is your name?” Her voice was meek and                      delicate.

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                                                   Online~

                                Javert : 5; Fantine : 6; Chilton : 17;

                    Um wow. So. Yeah. Lots of stuff to do. I definitely                     won’t get this all done today but whoops I’ll try. I’ve                     been neglecting my other blogs for a while to get                     Chilton up and running but he certainly doesn’t need                     my help anymore, so everything should be back to                     normal soon.

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{ Like this post for a starter! }

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{ cynismes } :

               ”I’ll do that, then. Thanks.”

                [ Honestly, flowers aren’t a subject he’s very knowledgable about.                     He knows which ones he thinks look nice or the ones that don’t                    have an overwhelming smell, but he is by no means an expert.                    Maybe he should’ve asked Jehan for recommendations or                    something before he came. ]

               ”Ah, do you know what kinds of flowers a girl who’s a bit younger                  than me might like? They’re for my sister, but I have no idea what                  she likes. Wonderful brother I am, right?”

                     [ — Fantine nods with a knowing smile. Whether                         the girl was Grantaire's sister, or 'sister', Fantine                         didn't care, and it was not her place to pry. ]

     “ — Of course, if you'd just follow me inside —”

                     [ — She leads the other inside of the fragrant shop,                         turning back to him occasionally to see that he was                         still following. Each time their gaze meets, it's returned                         with a polite smile. ]

                    [ — Opening the back door of the shop where the                        excess flowers are kept, Fantine glances over at                        Grantaire. ]

     “ — Do you see anything she'd like?”

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{ bloodofthefree } :

      "I am a bit lost, I am supposed to be at a uh—Cafe, on the North side of the city.” He began, his face not catching the look of deep thought. Of course, Grantaire had been lost before ( quite often, now that he thought of it )

      “I can’t remember the name, do you know of any cafes located towards the North?”

     —She paused at the man's question. Indeed, he was lost, for he had ended up on the other side of the city. Fantine laughed innocently, the sound almost musical.

                     “ — I'm afraid I do not. I live and work here, on the                   South side of Paris. I can point you in the direction                   of a good café around here, if you'd like?”

     —Fantine's smile was bright and friendly, as she seemed eager to help the lost man.

"May I ask a question, Madame."

     —A question? For her? A hundred things raced through the young woman’s mind. Why on Earth would this man have a question for her? She thought deeply, her delicate brow creasing. Why, it could be many things. The man could be lost, in need of directions, or perhaps would like to know the best time of flowers to purchase for a woman. She puts on a delicate smile and replies sweetly;

                     “ — Oui, monsieur?”

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{ fashionistaofthesepulchre } :

Montparnasse shrugged, not really caring if Cosette knew he was there. She knew his situation, and that he was apt to drop in at various places. “Thanks, madame, but she doesn’t need to know. I think she’s okay with this,” he gestured to them both, over his magazine. “By that, I mean me hanging out here.”

"You’re fine with it, too, right?" Montparnasse looked up from his magazine hesitantly, keeping it open over his quivering lips. His tired eyes bulged as he stared up at Fantine hopefully. "I was counting on Cosette being here today, you know, because my brother’s having a friend over, and they’re both so big and mean together."

After Montparnasse finally admitted what was bothering him, he went back to his magazine, shoulders tensed and rising into his neck. With a small utterance of how much he liked Kate Middleton, he flipped a couple pages and only glanced up when Fantine spoke again.

"Only if she has to, of course. She won’t take crap, either," Montparnasse commented, refusing to underestimate Cosette. "My friend he stood up, she’s so upset, and she’s taking it out on me, and I want to go over to her apartment, but she won’t let me. She says I’m part of the problem, because I’m a boy, and I won’t get it, but I’ve never done anything like that, I swear."

     —Fantine could only smile at the boy's innocence. Of course, he should feel at home within her own quaint living space. She felt proud of herself that the apartment gave off such an aesthetic so as to make a near-stranger feel completely at home. Why would she ever have a problem with Montparnasse coming over?

                     “ — Of course, Montparnasse. I don't mind you                   staying at all. As a matter of fact, I've been getting                   rather lonely here, what with Cosette spending her                   time with Marius and all.”

     —The woman had no trouble admitting that she was lonely — after all, where was the shame in that? She had a daughter, and it was quite easy for anyone to see that she was attached to the Lark. It should only make sense that her abode felt empty when the only joy in her life was away. Cosette's friends were the closest things to her daughter that Fantine had — and she cherished them almost like children of her own.

     —Upon hearing Montparnasse's confession, Fantine smiled sympathetically. Growing up in a few orphanages herself, she had known many loud, boisterous girls who could get intimidating if provoked. She had not grown up around boys, however, therefore knew not if they were any better. Judging by Mont's expression, she guessed worse.

     —A smile then spread across her face at Montparnasse's words. Fantine knew that her daughter would stand up for herself, if need be. Fantine did not want Cosette to share the same fate as she — having an uncaring boyfriend, or none at all, in a time of great need. She hoped it would never come to that, however.

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1: Hot, Steamy kiss

2: Cheek Kiss

3: Nose Kiss

4: Forehead Kiss

5: Firm Kiss

6: Gentle Peck

7: Romantic Kiss

8: Eyelid Kiss

9: Jawline Kiss

10: Neck Kiss

11: Collarbone Kiss

12: Chest Kiss

13: Stomach Kiss

14: Kiss Along the Hips

15: Kiss in the Rain

16: Upside-Down Kiss

17: Goofy Kiss

18: Underwater Kiss

19: Forceful Kiss

20: Any of the Above

21: Then there’s tongue

Send me 'I want the K' and I'll generate a number

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One is blind and falls in love with the other's voice AU littleelsebutlove

     —How long had it been since Fantine was last able to see? Days, weeks, months? The young woman no longer knew. Hours blended into days, creating a timeless existence that consisted of confinement to her bed, and the occasional walk along the length of her room and back. The nurses were kind and patient, and she greatly appreciated their help. Yet they were not the ones who made her look forward to waking after every doze.

     —Occasionally, the tittering voices of the concerned nurses would fall away, and she would hear a man, his voice filled with kindness. It was someone who cared, who didn't fuss incessantly over her lack of sight. He often took her hand in his own, murmuring soothing words. She relished in the warmth of that touch, sightless eyes gazing upwards.

     —It was a particularly warm day in early Autumn, Fantine could only guess, when the man had arrived at her bedside as usual. His deep voice greeted her as usual, and she smiled. Feeling suddenlybold, Fantine asked,

                     “ — Will you take me for a walk, outside today,                   monsieur?”

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"May I ask a question, Madame."

     —A question? For her? A hundred things raced through the young woman's mind. Why on Earth would this man have a question for her? She thought deeply, her delicate brow creasing. Why, it could be many things. The man could be lost, in need of directions, or perhaps would like to know the best time of flowers to purchase for a woman. She puts on a delicate smile and replies sweetly;

                     “ — Oui, monsieur?”

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"Do you know how much you mean to me?"

     —The question certainly caught Fantine off-guard. Did she know how much she meant to this man? The kind mayor, who took her off of the street, put her in a hospital where she was cared for, given food, and promised that she would see her child. It must have costed the mayor a great deal in both time and money. Surely, that said that she meant a lot to him? But Fantine was tired of getting her hopes up. She no longer knew what to think, especially when it came to the actions of men.

                     “ —I... I'm afraid I don't, monsieur.” Her tone was                  meek and small, hoarse coupled with her illness.

     —Monsieur Madeleine was a very kind mind, and Fantine felt hardly deserving of the care she recieved under his instruction. She noted the tenderness in both his actions and words. Everything the man did seemed to be filled with care. It was different than when she was with Tholomyès. Yes — perhaps Monsieur Madeleine cared for her a great deal.

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    I’ll protect them. 

                   Even if it means to lay my life down for them. 

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gentofgoodintent2

     — Had Fantine known that crime was such a profitable occupation, she might have considered it earlier on in her life. It seemed more dignified than becoming a whore, and the thievery wasn't all for her own benefit. Unable to care for her child Cosette with her meagre earnings, she left her to a couple of innkeepers. The man, Monsieur Thénardier, agreed to help her if she joined a group called the Patron-Minette. Of course, Fantine had been initially opposed to this idea — how could she steal, kill, break the law? Yet it was an act of desperation.

     —Work had not turned out on Montreuil sur Mer as she had originally hoped. Initially, she had declied Thénardier's offer, but seeing no alternative other than prostitution, she had reluctantly agreed.

     —Now, at night, Fantine arrived at the old in, knocking on the door slowly and gently, knowing someone would be up and waiting for her. She hoped that she would be able to see Cosette, but it was quite late, thus she didn't get her hopes up. Thénardier had written her a letter about a month ago, announcing the possibility of work, which was something Fantine couldn't refuse. She waited by the door hopefully and expectantly.

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{ ambrosiapsyche } :

  — Cosette is quite aware of her mother’s financial lacking — however, in a child’s mind, the lack seems much less. She adores her frocks in every way , especially the ones with long trains of ribbons and lace that make it as if her shadow is the same size as her mother’s. Surely these bonnets and frills could not be that horrific — especially if her mother, the creature this lark admires the most, is the one pouring them into her wardrobe. 

      This ocean fabric that adorns the dress her mother has picked out — why, it is positively exquisite. It is reminiscent of Rococo paintings — those that have become so hard to find except in places such as this. Places that resemble small castles — places that seem to be entirely fit for her mother. The princess that so deserves a castle, and to Cosette, is already a queen. However, her mother’s frocks seem entirely different from her own, for they are much more tattered — it seems that her mother must be Cinderella. There is no other alternative to such a story for such a beautiful person.

                “ — Oh, Mama — it reminds me of — a bird! A bird — yes! “

      And, in turn, this lark gives a shrill chirp of happiness. Yes — she does want this dress, and as a child, she has little to no sense of moderation. Perhaps her mother can purchase a dress similar, for her own needs — to draw the attention of a prince. Why — did Cinderella not need a new frock to impress the royal family, as well? 

      Cosette does not remember a prince, at all — it has always been just the two princesses in their humble cottage, awaiting their carriage. She has never questioned it — she has never needed this so-called father.

                “ Will you be getting one like it, too? We can match — ? “

     —Delight graces Fantine’s delicate fetaures as she watches Cosette’s eyes light up with joy once she sets them upon the dress. It really is quite lovely, though Fantine knows that she must be careful with the dyes if she were to buy it, as blue is hard to come by if it ever fades. Because of its colour, it is far more expensive than dresses of the same style in different shades, but her daughter wanted it so, thus it was of little importance how much it costed.

                     “ — You’ll look so lovely in this, Cosette!”

     —Fantine collects the small dress in her arms, ready to carry it over to the shopkeeper. At the small girl’s question, she looks down, a sad smile gracing her lips. How could she tell Cosette that she hardly had enough money for the tiny new frock, let alone one for herself?

                     “ — Cosette, dear…” the woman sighs, collecting                   her thoughts. “I’ll buy one at the next town we come                   across, alright?”

     —While the statement may or may not have been exactly true, it was certain that Fantine was in need of new clothing sometime soon. She had with her only three frocks, — each nearly threadbare — and a single bonnet. She took great care with the clothes of both her and her daughter, but Cosette was a growing girl, and needed clothes that would fit her. If anything, Fantine wasn’t growing; she was shrinking.

     —Taking Cosette by the hand, Fantine leads her over to the man waiting by the back of the shop. He has a kind, weathered face and sparkling brown eyes, with greying hair streaked with silver. As Fantine places the dress upon the counter, his eyes gleam and the creases on his face deepen, a smile spreading across his old, pale lips.

                     ‘ — What a lovely child you have there, madame,’ said                   he. ’The total for this dress is thirteen francs.’

     —Thirteen francs—! Fantine attempts to hide her surprise as much as possible, promptly paying the man. With a polite, curt nod, she collects the frock and turns to look down at Cosette.

                     “ — Would you like to wear it now?” A smile that exposes                   perfect white teeth flashes across her face, as if sharing her                   child’s excitement.